


The Return Journey

by aetheling



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Class Differences, Cultural Differences, Established Relationship, Fluff, Identity Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 09:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aetheling/pseuds/aetheling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo and Bofur explore issues of identity, progress, and what makes a home a home, and also, as it happens, the relationship they have with each other.<br/>Largely book-compliant with the eponymous chapter title with associated end-of-book spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Return Journey

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of exposition.

Perhaps ironically it was an evening spent in particularly un-hobbitish pursuits that brought Bilbo the needed resolve to make the decision that had become understandably more difficult for him in light of recent events.

  
The dwarves of the Iron Mountain along with members of Thorin's Company had been laboring long and hard in restoring the dwarf kingdom of Erebor to its former glory. This undertaking included not only vast amounts of elbow grease and Thorin's promised redecorating, but also the grim business of laying to rest those dwarves murdered by the dragon Smaug when he swept down from the North, whether they had perished fighting or had died by dragon-fire deep in their tunnels with no hope of escape. The dead honored, the halls scoured, and even the mines themselves being mined once more, the Lonely Mountain was once again officially open for business. To commemorate this very important occasion, Dain declared (and hosted with aplomb) a great feast to celebrate.

  
Bilbo felt that it was only proper to dress for the occasion and wore a new fine-spun shirt with dwarven embroidery all 'round the collar and a brilliantly blue waistcoat of silk with real gold buttons. As they made their way to the feasting hall together, he thought that Bofur had never looked finer in his own new tunic, boots, and leather belt inlaid with smooth-cut garnets, which glowed, instead of flashing, in the light.  
The feast started early and began late, and absolutely everyone was invited, even, to the astonishment of many, the Elvenking and those most chief among his people. In light of the events of the Battle of Five Armies, Dain King-Under-the-Mountain was willing to take part in a new friendship in those parts between Dwarves, Men, and Elves.

  
The feast was a feast for the ages, and by the time the seventh course was cleared away, Bilbo was feeling quite filled to capacity, even for a hobbit who had attended more than a few to-dos at Brandybuck Hall. There was wild boar, smothered with spices from the South, stuffed duck and legs of lamb, beets roasted in their skins, onions in gravy, and loaves upon loaves of fresh-baked bread with butter and honey. For afters there were all manner of puddings and fruit tarts. Though the ales and wines had been flowing freely through dinner, after the meal was when the toasts began in earnest. Speeches were made in honor of the fallen, notably Thorin Oakenshield and his sister-sons, Fili and Kili. Songs were sung and tales were told in their names, and many tears were shed in the listening and in the singing. The health of each member of Thorin's company was toasted, and each dwarf thus hailed (and also Bilbo) spoke of their adventure and of their fallen comrades.

  
As Bilbo listened rapt to dwarf voices raised together in song loud, solemn and merry, accompanied by at times by flute, drum, fiddle, and pipes, Bilbo was struck with the beauty and the belonging of the dwarves here in this place, their ancestral homeland. In that moment his Baggins nature, which had been sleeping for some time now, sprang from its comfortable repose with a mighty leap, and declared that there was a place where Bilbo too felt at home, a place that was a much a part of his blood and bones as Erebor was of the dwarves', and that it perhaps at times was not such a bad thing for life to be safe and predictable, after all. Bilbo was a hobbit of the Shire, and to the Shire he must return. But as he let his eyes rest on Bofur as the dwarf added his own voice to the songs, he knew it would be no easy task.

 

* * *

 

The following morning, though more than a few dwarves slept late, Bilbo was dusty, dirty and sweaty, having promised Ori, the newly appointed (and very proud) Official Librarian of the Lonely Mountain to lend his help in arranging bookshelves and organizing the incoming cartloads of venerable tomes arriving from the Iron Hills and even further afield. The both of them had been hard at work hauling bookshelves, heaving books to and fro and scrambling up and down step-ladders for hours.

  
Currently Bilbo and Ori were perched on stools among the chaos of book-piles, in the midst of dividing another load of volumes. They had decided to arrange the books by the material with which it dealt, and then afterward by the author's name. They had also agreed that the books would not be separated by language, that records would be separate from other works of non-fiction, and that they had far too many copies of Dalen's Healing Powers of Gems and Crystals. There was a system: Bilbo would read the title (his Khuzdul was improving by leaps and bounds, and he was acutely feeling the honor of receiving such instruction at all) and Ori, poised and ready with parchment and quill-pen, would record the title, author and subject (the exact shelf location would be added in later).

Bilbo hefted another tome, peering at the title page. “Compendium of Stones Volcanic in Origin, it says.”

“Another for the geology stacks,” said Ori.

Bilbo eyed the precarious piles in question. “Yes, they're rather building up.” It seemed be a be a popular subject. “Next, we have A Guide to Fossilized Remains of the Ancient World.” He paused to continue reading. “With many useful and diverting illustrations, it's subtitled.”

“Ooh, paleontology! Perhaps I'll save that for some before-bed reading.” The young librarian's features took on a confidential cast. “I have my own fossil collection, actually. I could show you, if you'd like.”

“I'd like that.” Bilbo never suffered from a lack of appreciation of the joy of knowledge in Ori's company, which made their work together go all the easier.  
They found a (complete!) collection of the dwarf sagas, records of births, marriages and deaths from the Iron Hills, and even 'A Young Dwarf's Guide to Coming-of-Age' which were filed under Ancient Literature, Records, and Health, respectively. Of course they also had to unearth The Glory of Erebor and Erebor: Tales of the Homeland which left Bilbo feeling momentarily rather maudlin. As he turned to another title page, cradling the back of the book so as not to break the spine, he paused to turn toward the door at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Working hard, I see!” Bofur called. “Or hardly working?”

Bilbo set the book aside; the dwarf's entrance was as good an excuse as any for a break. “You know what? I could could ask you the same thing!” Bilbo stood and stretched as a remarkably clean Bofur ambled over with hands tucked in his vest pockets. “It looks to me as if you've hardly lifted a finger all morning, while we've been slaving away in here for hours.” He turned to his friend, arms akimbo. “Don't you think, Ori?”

“Oh no, don't involve me! I'm suddenly feeling the need for a mid-day bite. Just a bit peckish.” he was packing his ink and parchment away as he spoke, and his ears were noticeably pink as he fled.

Bilbo smirked. “Now look what you've done! You've scared the poor lad off.”

This was too much. “Oh, you've wounded me!” But Bofur was smiling as he staggered. “I'll have you know that I am the cuddliest dwarf you will ever know, and what's more, you know it to be true,” he said, coming closer to slide his arms about Bilbo's shoulders.

“Yes, I know it.” And it was with a light heart that Bilbo moved to return the casual embrace, so that when he looked up at mustaches and smiling eyes, they were nose-to-nose.

“And so you know, I haven't been entirely idle. I've discovered that Bofur the dwarf is a dwarf who knows dwarves.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Oh, yes, indeed!” he replied, hefting some very truthful eyebrows. “The main shaft to the diamond mines has been exposed and excavated, and Dain King-Under-the-Mountain himself has invited me to be among the first inside. Now, I can't promise that this particular mine will be a grand as the iron ore mines in the Blue Mountains, but as mines go, it should be alright.” He said this with the air of someone who should know.

Bilbo knew that Bofur was still teasing, but he could see that the sparkle of diamonds was in the dwarf's eyes as well. Bofur inclined his head in an intimate little bow. “And I'd like to invite you along with.”

“Ah- Well-” Bilbo found himself staring down at Bofur's belly instead of up at his kind face. “But I know you can't really mean that, that especially-”

Bofur gathered his hobbit closer, pressing a kiss into the curls on the top of his head. He spoke slowly, carefully. “About inviting you along? Well now, of course I am. I thought it would be interesting for you. And of course there's hardly a dwarf that doesn't know his way around a mine. You'll be perfectly safe.”

“No- I mean about the Blue Mountains-” He had known this would be difficult, and the hot swoop in his stomach was telling him that he had been right.

“I know.” Bilbo could feel the dwarf's warm sigh pushing against his hair, and Bofur broke away from their embrace. “Here, sit,” he commanded gently, and bent to grab up the three-legged stool previously occupied by Ori. He plunked it down and planted himself on it, close enough so that when Bilbo sank down to join him, Bofur didn't need to reach to take Bilbo's hands in his own. “What's on your mind?”

“Oh, I know it needn't be so difficult-” Bilbo began, concentrating on their joined hands. “But then again it's not about to go away.” And the task wasn't getting any easier.

“Yes?” Bofur prompted, patiently.

The hobbit looked up to meet his gaze. “I'm a hobbit of the Shire, aren't I?” he said in desperation and defiance. “I need to go home.”

“Well now, that's no reason to worry yourself, is it?” Bofur said, giving the hands he held a little squeeze. A frown creased Bilbo's forehead.

“But-” he felt that there was no longer a point in avoiding an explicit explanation. “I'd also like to stay with you. That's the problem.”

Bofur nodded. “Then of course the solution to your problem is that when you go, I will go with you. It's as simple as that.”

“What?” Bilbo found himself gripping the fabric of Bofur's shirt at his elbows, pulling him closer. “I don't understand. You've fought so hard for this- This is your homeland. Isn't that important too?”

“Oh, sure,” Bofur said, hands moving to grip Bilbo just above his knees. “But the only real home I've ever known is in the West. To be perfectly honest with you-” He grinned. “ I was only ever really in it for the good times.”

“The good times!” Bilbo let his forehead fall against Bofur's and laughed helplessly. “That's what all our troubles were for?”

“Well, yes. That and the gold, of course,” Bofur said, eyes dancing.

“But-” Bilbo pulled back to look Bofur comfortably in the eye. “Don't you want to live here? Aren't you needed for the mining?”

Bofur narrowed his eyes at the flustered hobbit. “Look here, do you want me to stay?”

“Well no!” Bilbo's face crumpled in frustration.

Bofur's voice was soft when he spoke. “Then it's like this – if all the miners had been off the guest list last night, it would have been a poor sort of party.” He smirked. “And I can say that because elf parties never did me a lick of good.”

That earned him a snort of laughter from the hobbit, and more relaxed than he thought would have been possible under the circumstances, he looked up in wonderment. “So, you really are coming home with me?” A new warmth stole into the air, but this the heat of tea in the mornings and of hearth-fires and of long summer afternoons.

“Aye, I'm going home with you.”

“Good.” Bilbo breathed, and leaned forward to press soft, strong kisses into his dwarf's mouth, Bofur returning the relief and love and sweet pressure. The kiss ended in laughter, their lips spreading against each other into matching smiles. Bofur moved to peer at Bilbo from nose-length.

“Now then,” he intoned, suddenly mock-serious again. “Are you coming with me into that mine?”

Bilbo scoffed. “I've been within incineration range of Smaug the Terrible twice. Entirely on my own initiative, I might add.” He stood, and offered Bofur a hand up, pulling him to his feet. “I"m sure I can handle some dirty old mine.”

 


End file.
